


Why Me?

by Mums_the_Word



Series: Why Me? [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: FBI Manhunt, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, child kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series: Neal’s latest robbery nets him a bit more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     Charles Cameron Wentworth III was running late, but he needed his morning fix of java to get him through a tedious morning of wrangling deals with foreign investors. The blueblood lawyer reigned over the firm of Wentworth and Associates, situated in a prestigious building on Wall Street. He was the first to admit that he hadn’t worked his way up the proverbial ladder. He had simply swanned into his position of power after dear old Dad’s Mayflower genes hadn’t protected him from a cerebral aneurysm a few years back. Wentworth II had simply keeled over at his desk, telephone in hand, in the midst of wheeling and dealing.

     Charles had been an only child who went the route that had been mapped out for him at birth. He attended the Phillips Academy at Andover, and then matriculated through Yale, his father’s alma mater. Later he slogged through law school and busted his chops trying to keep the old man happy. He was always disenchanted with his life, but afraid to break from the mold, not to mention all that family money. He dated the right girl at Yale, and eventually married her. Deidre was a debutante more into social climbing than paying attention to her husband. They stayed married for twelve years, ten of which they spent trying to tear each other apart. Somehow, during a momentary lapse, they had produced a child. Annabella was now four years old. Shortly after the infant’s birth, her mother had an epiphany. She wasn’t cut out to be a nurturer, and she certainly wasn’t cut out to be Charles’ wife. After a generous divorce settlement, she scurried off to Europe and was now living with a ski instructor in Gstaad, Switzerland.

     The second wife had been a model. No way was she going to ruin her figure with childbirth, so that was a relief. Charles certainly didn’t want anymore rug rats underfoot. The model quickly became disenchanted with her “boring” husband and divorced him in record time. This go-around he was savvier, and a prenup agreement prevented her from taking him to the cleaners. However, Charles Cameron Wentworth III was still saddled with little Annabella, now asleep in the snazzy Jaguar’s back seat. Yeah, that car seat was a real buzzkill when he dated women. It just seemed incongruous with a vanity license plate that said “SWAGG’R.”

     The pompous lawyer really didn’t relish the role of parent, and relegated the child’s care to a revolving door of nannies. This morning, the latest one had called to tell him, in her fractured English, that she couldn’t come in to do her job. Lord, couldn’t these people learn to speak the language after they crossed the damn border! So, here he was dragging Annabella to his office. His secretary was going to be doing double duty today keeping her occupied and out of Charles’ hair.

     With a sense of egocentric privilege, the lawyer parked in front of his favorite coffee shop. It was a definite “No Parking” zone, but what the hell. If some lowly meter cop ticketed him, he’d just pay the fine. Annabella was deeply asleep and had listed to the side in her car seat. You couldn’t even see her blonde head from the driver’s seat. Charles wasn’t about to lug her into the coffee house. He had noted that his favorite barista was behind the counter this morning—a pretty, naïve college kid from New York University. Mr. Casanova liked to chat her up just to see her look of awe when he let her know how important and powerful he was. So, this morning he simply locked the Jag after leaving the child in the car, and strutted into the busy shop to take his place in line. As he was pushing through the door, a tall, dark-haired man bumped his shoulder and immediately offered an apology.

     “Hey, man, sorry about that!”

     Charles sent him a dark look and snarled, “Watch where you’re going, Dude!”

     He thought no more of the incident until twenty minutes later when he exited the shop, cappuccino in hand, and found only an empty space where his beloved Jag had been parked.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Annabella wasn’t quite sure what had caused her to awaken. Maybe it was the absence of the lulling motion of a moving car; maybe it was the slamming of the car’s door. She looked around for her father and found that she was alone. That didn’t upset her as much as the fact that her favorite Beanie Baby, a snow-white unicorn that she had named “Sparkle,” had fallen from her grip and now lay on the floor of the vehicle. She really loved “Sparkle” and knew that he was just as upset as she was. He needed her to hold and cuddle him because they were never separated from one another. She had to rescue him before he really got scared!

     Annabella knew how to get out of her car seat. It was easy for little fingers to push the latch to release the straps. The rule was that you never, ever got out of your car seat when the car was moving. But it wasn’t moving now, so she really wasn’t being naughty. Four-year-olds are as lithe as eels, and she easily shimmied down between the seats. She gathered her furry little pet into her arms and rocked him soothingly. All that accomplished was making her so relaxed and contented that she quickly nodded off again on the car’s plush carpeting. The Jaguar soon resumed its journey, and the hypnotic motion sent her deeper into a child’s fantasy dreamland.

~~~~~~~~~~

     Neal Caffrey, thief and con man extraordinaire, had come into Manhattan early because it was going to be a very busy, and hopefully, very profitable morning. He had dressed carefully in a conservative, well-cut, three-piece suit to look the part of a successful broker representing a discriminating client. Actually, he was really representing himself when he showed up at a very high-end rare coin shop on 47th Street. Mozzie’s clandestine sources had passed along information that the establishment had just recently come into possession of a 1913 Liberty Head nickel. Back in the day, that little piece of change had been minted without the approval of the U.S. Mint, which had switched the five-cent piece’s design from that of Lady Liberty to the profile of a Native American. Only five had made their way into the public domain, and it was said to be valued at almost $3.7 million.

     Neal had studied every picture of the coin that was available, and painstakingly replicated it using lead. The newly minted doppelganger was now nestled in his pocket, and he hoped to make the slight-of-hand swap during his appointment today. Everything went according to plan; the owner had been temporarily distracted by Neal’s impromptu coughing spell that necessitated a glass of water that was “accidently” spilled. The con man left the shop a few minutes later, promising to meet with his wealthy client and follow up later in the week with the shop owner about a possible sale.

     Neal wasn’t worried that his fingerprints would be found after the theft was discovered. Both he and the numismatist had examined the piece while wearing cotton gloves. However, he knew that his face had been captured on the shop’s camera, and the authorities could then track him on street cams. So, as quickly as possible, he descended the nearest subway stairs and hopped on a train heading downtown. He exited near Wall Street and sauntered into the first coffee shop that he saw. Police walking their beat certainly wouldn’t get suspicious of a well-dressed man on Wall Street casually sipping an expresso before work.

     He spent a half-hour simply people watching when Fate tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a nudge. He astutely observed an entitled jerk pull up right in front of the glass windows like he owned the keys to the city. Neal had to admit that the guy had a sweet ride, and it couldn’t have been better timing because the con man/thief knew that he had to get out of the city as soon as possible. This vision in sleek silver and chrome sure beat public transportation or renting a car. He knew that he was acting on an impulsive whim, but he couldn’t help himself. It was meant to be!

     His nimble fingers again performed their magic, and the guy’s keys found their way into his pocket beside the valuable coin. There was a long line of customers waiting to place their orders, so Neal would have a bit of a head start. Settling himself into the plush seat, he bent down and quickly disabled the car’s LoJack system and tossed the round tracker from the keyring into the street. Finally, he buckled in and headed toward the Holland Tunnel at a sedate pace. That egress from the island would take him over to Jersey City where his temporary safe house was located in a quiet little residential neighborhood mostly populated by senior citizens.

     Neal was pretty sure that New York’s “Finest”—those proud men in blue who pledged to serve and protect—wouldn’t place auto theft very high on their list of life-threatening priorities. The owner of the missing car would most likely be instructed to come down to the precinct house to file a report. That would entail lots of red tape, and by the time anything was acted upon, Neal would be long gone. He had a livery pickup scheduled for the next night to take him to the international terminal of the airport. Once across the pond, he would be staying in a pied a terre in Denmark until Mozzie finished some business abroad and could join him.

     As he had hoped, the Jaguar handled like a dream, with all those powerful horses under the hood purring like contented kittens. Forcing himself to use restraint, he was careful to drive the speed limit, finally turning into the quiet little tree-lined street. Ultimately, he pulled into the driveway of a modest 1940’s bungalow with an attached garage. Once the garage door had descended on its track, it triggered a fluorescent light in the dark confines of the enclosure. The warm car engine was softly ticking in cool-down mode when, suddenly, a small face, amidst a cloud of blonde ringlets, loomed up in the rearview mirror. Neal startled so abruptly that his body surged upward causing his head to make contact with the roof of the classy sedan. This unexpected apparition stared at him for a moment with big blue eyes, and then timidly ducked back down from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story come from the following quote by American cartoonist Tom Wilson.  
> “If I had a nickel for every time I said ‘Why me?’ I’d probably have said ‘Why me’ more often.”


	2. Chapter 2

     Peter Burke was having a pretty good day so far. He and his team were finally making some headway dismantling a fraudulent mortgage scam—something that had been on their plate for ages. Just before lunch, his boss, Reese Hughes, was suddenly looming in the entrance to the conference room, and he definitely did not look happy. When Peter joined him in his office, two detectives from NYPD were already there looking grim.

     Hughes opened with the ominous words, “Peter, we have a situation regarding Neal Caffrey.”

     “What’s he done now, Reese?” Peter asked with a sense of dread. The FBI agent had been chasing the elusive con man and thief for almost three years. It had been frustrating, to say the least. Caffrey was always just one step ahead when performing his incredibly brazen crimes that were, more often than not, accompanied by death-defying exploits. Those ridiculously daring acts always left Peter with his heart lodged in his throat.

     “He’s really stepped in it this time, Peter,” Hughes said solemnly. “Now he’s added abduction of a child and kidnapping to his list of sins!”

     Peter couldn’t wrap his head around that concept! Of course Caffrey was a criminal, but more of a “Gentleman Criminal,” with a set of ethical standards from which he never deviated. Peter knew that he refused to use weaponry or to instill fear in his marks. In fact, he was always unfailingly polite and respectful. What had happened that caused this radical shift?

     Hughes deferred to the detectives who informed Peter that a man that they suspected was Neal Caffrey had stolen a 2015 metallic-silver XJ Jaguar sedan from in front of a coffee shop near Wall Street. A four-year-old little girl had been in the back seat of that car.

     “Are you sure that it was Neal?” Peter wanted to know. “Snatching children certainly doesn’t fit his MO.”

     “We got a pretty good image off the street cam across from the coffeehouse, and we ran it through all available databases. We got a hit on Caffrey, courtesy of your input into the system. It’s definitely him. The child’s father gave a positive ID when we showed him a picture. He claimed the guy bumped into him when he was going into the coffee shop.”

     Peter had to ask. “A father actually left his young child all alone in his car while he went for coffee?”

     The two detectives exchanged a look that Peter couldn’t interpret.

     “Well, you’d have to meet this guy to get the whole picture,” they enigmatically informed him. “Look, we have to dump this debacle in the FBI’s lap since it involves kidnapping that possibly entails crossing state lines, but, if you keep us in the loop, we’ll give you whatever help that we can.”

     Peter appreciated their candor, and realized that their supposition might be right. There was a whole series of bridges and tunnels that led out of Manhattan—a small, concentrated city that would become radioactive for a kidnapper once an “Amber Alert” was issued. Peter doubted that Caffrey would have remained on New York Island for very long.

     “Peter,” Hughes took over the conversation, “the FBI’s division of ‘Kidnapping and Missing Persons’ is already at the child’s home. When they did some digging and unearthed your long history with Caffrey, they requested that you be temporarily assigned to their unit. They were magnanimous enough to put their professional pride aside and ask for your help. The prime objective is to get this child back safe and sound.”

     “Of course, Reese, I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Peter vowed as he took the slip of paper Hughes handed him with the child’s home address.

     As Peter drove to a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side, his mind was on a loop. What had he missed in the Caffrey saga that should have alerted him to a harbinger of escalating crime and possibly violence? Sure—the profilers at the Bureau had tagged the young thief as a sociopath with a skewed sense of entitlement, but this? What had triggered this new and dangerous psychopathic break from his normal baseline? It just didn’t make any sense in Peter’s mind.

     When Peter arrived at the Wentworth address, the high-status apartment was like a hyperactive beehive of activity with FBI personnel all over the place. A bank of phones and electronic tracing equipment was being hastily installed in a den off the main living area. In a quiet corner, a tearful, dark-skinned Hispanic woman was nervously wringing a handkerchief while being interrogated by a soft-spoken female agent. However, a scowling man in a pinstriped suit and a bad comb-over dominated the scene as he alternately paced and shouted. Peter had him pegged as the agitated father of the missing child.

     “How much longer are you going to be until you get this done?” the angry man demanded. “He could be trying to call right now while you’re asking all of my household staff stupid questions. You know who the kidnapper is, so get off your asses and catch him!”

     An FBI agent was trying to calm the blustering tirade. “Sir, we know that you are very worried about your daughter, and we want to assure you that we are giving this case top priority right now. It’s important that we determine whether the abductor acted alone, and was not working in concert with someone in your employ or in your personal life. We’ll be talking to everyone including the housekeeper, the chauffeur, and the nannie. We will even be interviewing the other lawyers in your firm. We would also like to talk to your two ex-wives, if you would be good enough to give us their contact information.” The voice of reason was Matt Holstein, the head of the FBI’s New York City kidnapping division.

     The “distraught” father refused to be reassured or pacified. “Look, the way that I see it, the whole thing is cut and dried. This bastard knew that I was wealthy, began stalking me, and waited for his chance to take my kid to get a big payday from me. Don’t try to make it into a whole conspiracy plot, for God’s sake. Just do your job without disrupting my employees or law associates. And let me warn you, Agent, that you definitely need to leave those two harridans that I married out of it. Neither one of them is involved, I can assure you!”

     As an added affront, he continued, “And for the record, I want you to know that I attended prep school with the mayor’s son, so His Honor’s private number is on my speed dial. I won’t hesitate to call him if you aren’t up to the task of getting back what is mine.”

     Peter stayed in the background listening to all this pontificating and did his own bit of profiling. This loud buffoon was a real jerk, and Peter gave Matt Holstein high marks for keeping his cool. Eventually, Peter made his way over to the division head and introduced himself.

     “Right now,” Peter began, “I certainly don’t envy you this job. Dad is a real piece of work. Is there a mother involved?”

     Holstein shook his head. “Like any sane individual who values self-preservation, she ran for the hills right after the child was born. She lives somewhere in Switzerland and has no interest in being cast in the role of mother. We ruled out parental abduction right off the bat. So, apparently the poor missing tyke’s misfortune is being stuck living with the _Father of the Year_ over there. The second Mrs. Wentworth also took a powder. She lasted a New York minute and is presently on a photo shoot in France. Most likely the man is right. Neither one of the women are probably involved in the kidnapping.”

     Holstein led Peter into another room of the apartment, and then asked, “What can you tell me about Neal Caffrey that wasn’t in the Bureau notes. You supposedly had some sort of relationship with him over the years, so tell me what’s between the lines. I need to get a feel for who he is, and maybe get inside his head to know how he thinks.”

     Peter obliged by beginning his narrative. “This is all so out of character for Neal. He has never been a predator, nor harmed anyone. With him, it was all about getting attention for astounding thefts and magnificent forgeries rather than amassing fortunes. I took on his case three years ago and came to have a grudging respect for his methods. I have even talked with him when I would get the occasional transatlantic call. Those calls weren’t meant to be gloating on his end; it was almost as if he just wanted to foster a connection with someone.”

     Holstein was thoughtful. “He’s young—I got that much from the profile. Do you think that he came to see you as a father figure? We could use that to our advantage if he calls,” he suggested.

     Before Peter could respond, Wentworth barged in and interrupted with another rant.

     “I looked up the FBI statistics and the success rates for solving kidnappings, Agent Holstein, and what I read isn’t very impressive. If I were as unsuccessful as you at my job, my firm would go under in six months. Isn’t it a fact that even if I pay a king’s ransom, this deviant will kill my kid anyway, and you inept clowns probably wouldn’t even find a body!”

     Peter’s forehead furrowed. Was this obviously well heeled parent actually waffling on paying a ransom demand if one came in? Was he that cold and unfeeling that he resented parting with a bit of his wealth in exchange for his own flesh and blood? Unbelievable!

     Holstein took a deep breath. “Hopefully, it will not get to the stage of paying ransom. We now have tracing software in place so that we can pinpoint any call that he makes to this house. We have released his picture, as well as your daughter’s, to the media, so people will be watching for any sighting of either of them.”

     “And what about my car?” Wentworth demanded. “Have you put out an alert and description of that? That Jag is an expensive piece of automotive excellence. You need to get it back as well before it’s dismantled in some chop shop. That would be a sacrilege!”

   Peter found that he had to step out onto the terrace to get some fresh air. He wasn’t the lead agent on this case, so he needed to keep his mouth shut and let poor Holstein deal with this cruel, unfeeling tyrant. Never once during all of the bellowing had this father ever referred to his child by name. It was almost as if there was a parental disconnect that Peter couldn’t fathom. Suddenly, he had an off-the-wall thought. Maybe little Annabella Wentworth was better off with Neal Caffrey!


	3. Chapter 3

     Meanwhile in Jersey City, Neal’s heart rate gradually returned to a less life-threatening level as he slowly got out of the driver’s seat of the Jag and opened the rear door. A little elfin creature, hugging a small stuffed animal to her chest, stared up at him fearfully from the floor of the backseat.

     “Don’t be afraid, little one,” Neal coaxed. “Actually, _you_ are the one who scared _me_. Why were you hiding in the backseat of this car?”

     Neal began to panic when the only response that he got was the welling of tears in the child’s eyes that gradually spilled over and streaked down her small face. “Oh, no, no, no,” he pleaded. “Please don’t cry. I won’t hurt you—I promise. If you cry then that will make me sad, too. I just want to be your friend.”

     Now the little girl hid her face from him, and Neal was all out of ideas as to how to relieve her distress, not to mention his own anxiety. He had absolutely no experience with kids, so he felt like he was up a creek without a paddle at the moment. God was surely punishing him for his sins. He had started out stealing a nickel and wound up stealing a kid!

     Finally, with an exaggerated sigh that he made sure she could hear, Neal said very quietly, “If you want to stay in the car, I won’t make you come out. But it’s kind of a small space in there, and you’d probably be more comfortable in the house. I’m going inside now, but I’ll leave the light on out here in the garage, and the door to the house open in case you decide to change your mind. You just might get lonely all by yourself.”

     “I’m not alone,” a small voice mumbled, “I have ‘Sparkle’ with me.”

     Neal was nonplused. “Well, okay then. It’s good that you have a friend. Maybe later, if you feel like it, you could tell me why you named your buddy ‘Sparkle.’ It’s a very unique name, but quite fitting for a spectacular creature like a unicorn. I know some stories about unicorns that I could tell you, if you come inside, that is.”

     When the little girl still refused to look at him or leave her refuge, Neal slowly retreated to the house, leaving the door ajar that opened into the kitchen. He quickly flipped on the small flat screen television atop the kitchen counter and found a local news station. He was immediately confronted with pictures of himself and the child as a newscaster related a breaking story involving FBI fugitive Neal Caffrey’s abduction of four-year-old Annabella Wentworth. Anyone seeing the kidnapper was advised to call the specially created FBI hotline. Under no circumstances should they confront the abductor who could be armed and dangerous.

   “Damn, damn, damn!” Neal thought to himself. This whole thing was a fiasco that he really didn’t need right now. His plan to leave for the airport tomorrow suddenly crumbled under the weight of the unexpected and upsetting development. He certainly couldn’t show his face in the near future. Now he’d have to hang out here with his frightened little pocket pal until reinforcements arrived. He quickly texted Mozzie, far, far away in Europe, begging him to come home and lend assistance. It was probably a futile gesture since silent running was the watchword when Mozzie was on a mission.

     Neal quickly switched off the newscast when he felt another presence in the room. The pint-sized blonde, with the unicorn in the crook of her arm, was standing silently just inside the door scrapping black scuffmarks onto the linoleum tiles from her ridiculously little Mary Jane pumps.

     “Wow!” Neal enthused with a smile. “I’m really glad that you decided to join me. I was the one who was getting lonely in here all by myself.”

     When she continued to stand stiffly and stare, Neal asked, “Are you hungry? Did you have breakfast this morning?”

     “Noooo,” the waif strung out the word softly, and then added, “Daddy was late so there was no time.”

     “Well, then,” Neal enthused. “it’s almost 11:30, so we can have brunch—that’s like a mixture of breakfast and lunch.”

     As he began rummaging in the pantry and the refrigerator, he located bread, milk, butter, and eggs. He would make French toast. Everybody liked that, right? Then he had a thought as he started breaking eggs into a bowl and adding vanilla, milk and sugar.

     “You’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”

     She looked at him quizzically and had no answer.

     “Do you ever eat ice cream?” Neal asked.

     “Of course, silly. Everybody eats that,” she chided him.

     “Sure they do,” he agreed.

     The aroma of a hot breakfast eventually enticed her to sit at the table and daintily shovel pieces of cut-up toast into her mouth. Neal silently contemplated her as he sipped a mug of coffee.

     “Why aren’t you eating, too,” Annabella asked.

     “Oh, I had a big breakfast earlier, so I’m not real hungry yet,” Neal lied. In fact, his stomach was so tied up in knots, he didn’t think that he could get anything down his throat in the foreseeable future.

     The silent assessments on both sides of the table continued for a few minutes until it was Neal who finally waded into the unknown. “So, let’s talk about ‘Sparkle’ and how he got his name,” Neal prodded, trying to get the child to relax as well as himself.

     “Well, when I first got him, he had sparkles all over his hair,” the child informed him as she caressed the unicorn’s mane. “I petted him so much that I petted all the sparkles off,” she said sadly.

     Neal cocked his head and regarded the plush animal thoughtfully. “Actually, I think he probably looks more distinguished without the sparkles.”

     Annabella wasn’t sure if this was a good thing, so she kept silent.

     “Now why don’t you tell me your name?” Neal prompted.

     The child smiled mischievously. “You have to guess!”

     “Okay, let’s see. Is it Snow White? No? How about Cinderella? No? Could it be Rapunzel, Tinkerbell, or maybe Brunhilda?”

     The little girl was now giggling helplessly, and Neal finally had an opening.

     “I’m going to take a wild guess here and go with my favorite one. Is your name Annabella by any chance?”

     The child clapped her hands and her eyes lit up. “Do you really like that name? My Daddy doesn’t because I was named after my Mommy’s mother, and he didn’t like her very much. So, he’s just called me ‘Bella’ for as long as I can remember.”

     “Well, I think Annabella is a lovely name. Did you know that it actually means _beautiful_?”

     “Really?” the child asked skeptically.

     “Cross my heart,” Neal vowed.

     “Maybe you should just call me Bella ‘cause that’s what I’m used to,” Annabella decreed. “Now tell me your name and what it means,” she asked with the natural inquisitiveness of a four-year-old.

     “My name is Neal and it means _champion,_ ” he told her. “Do you know what a champion is?”

     “Yep,” the child declared. “It’s somebody who is the bestest.”

     “Exactamundo!” Neal gave a high five that was returned with gusto.

     Since he seemed to have established a connection with the little girl, the con man felt that he needed to reassure her so that another meltdown wasn’t on the horizon.

     “Now Bella,” he began, “I know that you are probably missing your Daddy right now, and I’m sure that he is missing you.”

     “Not really,” the child contradicted him. “Daddy works a lot so he is not home much. He had to take me with him today because Martina wasn’t there.”

     Neal needed clarification at this point. “Who is Martina?”

     “Martina stays with me almost all day and sometimes at night when Daddy goes out,” Annabella said offhandedly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

     Okay, Neal thought to himself, this “Martina” is most likely either a nannie or a stepmother. If it were her own mother, Bella wouldn’t be calling her by a first name. Neal sighed inwardly. This was like teasing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle into place, but patience was the order of the day.

     “Does your mother have a job, too, Bella?”

     “I don’t have a mother,” she informed him without a hint of distress.

     “What happened to her?” Neal asked with a sense of foreboding. Please, God, do not let her tell me some heart-wrenching story about a woman dying and leaving a motherless child behind.

     “Oh, she went away when I was born and never came back because she didn’t like me or Daddy,” was the just as disturbing answer.

     “Well, that certainly can’t be right,” Neal argued. “How could anybody not like you?”

     “Daddy’s next wife didn’t like us either, so she went away too. She always made Daddy really mad. He gets mad a lot and yells. That’s why all the ladies who have taken care of me don’t come back. They’re afraid of him, and they don’t like it when he tells them that they’re stupid. I can’t remember all of their names—just Martina’s. She’s nice to me, but I know one day she will leave us, too.”

     A very disturbing picture was forming in Neal’s mind. Annabella blasé acceptance of an absentee mother who had deserted her, and an emotionally detached and volatile father, was just so wrong. How could a father be so cruel as to tell a child that her mother did not like her? Neal felt his anger rising unbidden in his chest. He realized that this little blonde moppet was hitting a chord in the deep recesses of his own psyche. He knew what it felt like to be abandoned, both physically and emotionally, at a young age. He remembered the loneliness, and even the sense of shame and guilt because he assumed that it had been his fault. He hadn’t been a good enough little boy, and that was why his father had been killed and his mother cried, stared into space, never looked at his drawings, and forgot how to cook.

     Over the years, Neal had stubbornly relegated all the hurts of childhood to the deepest corners of his mind. It was over and done, couldn’t be changed, and he had survived and moved on. However, sometimes in the dark of night when sleep eluded him, he would open that door and examine each and every memory and try to reconcile them with what he had become. Were his ridiculously dangerous stunts a ploy for attention? Was his behavior meant to show everybody that he was clever and resilient? Were his stupendous exploits just an adolescent attempt to validate his worth? If he was honest, Neal admitted that the slick, con man exterior was a shell, a kind of armor to protect him from more hurts in the fickle world around him.

     Real life was tough and handed you some hard knocks when you were an adult, and, sadly, sometimes sooner. Nevertheless, children should not have to cope with adversities when they were just little innocents like Annabella. They should be loved, protected, and cherished by their parents for as long as possible before the demeaning world steps in and does its best to wear them down. They definitely should not be shunted off to the side and ignored, or foisted off on a series of caregivers with ever-changing faces. They needed and deserved a touchstone in their lives. They should not feel that abandonment and disinterest were normal and all that they deserved.

     Finally, Neal mentally wrenched himself back to the present and his current dilemma. He looked at Annabella who was quietly staring at him while compulsively petting her little plush toy.

     “I promise that I will get you back home soon, my little albatross, but until then let’s have some fun,” he said brightly.

     “You won’t go away and leave me alone, will you?” Annabella asked apprehensively.

     “Never,” Neal vowed. “Cross my heart!”


	4. Chapter 4

     Neal had some paints stashed in the safe house to keep himself from getting bored when he had to hole up there from time to time. He set Bella up at the kitchen table with a collection of watercolors and a tablet, and then sat back to enjoy her fascination with artistic creation. He showed her the proper way to hold the variety of brushes, and taught her how to make “pink,” her favorite color, by combining red and white. He drew a picture of a unicorn that she filled in with a rainbow of hues that all ran together, but actually looked aesthetically pleasing to Neal’s discriminating eye.

     While the little girl concentrated on her craft, Neal entertained her with stories that were so vivid that they came alive in the child’s imagination. He spoke of magical unicorns that lived in a secret forest that only maidens with the purest of hearts could find. Then, and only then, would the shy creatures come out of hiding, snuggle in the beautiful young ladies’ laps, and let themselves be hugged and stroked.

     Neal told Bella about the magnificent white horse with wings named Pegasus. “He was a noble and loyal stallion who could fly like the wind, and was a favorite of a very powerful Greek god named Zeus, who lived high in the clouds atop Mount Olympus. Zeus loved this steed so much that he placed him in the heavens among the stars so that he would live forever.”

     “Pegasus certainly wasn’t alone,” Neal continued with his tales, “because Zeus added others to keep him company. There was Orion, the great hunter. He liked to brag a lot, and Zeus was sometimes not too pleased with his boasting. Even though he was a great hunter, he would never, ever harm the two other animals that lived with him. Beautiful Callisto and her son Arcas had been magically turned into sweet, shaggy bears by Zeus so that they could become Orion’s companions.”

     Since Bella seemed to have a fondness for animals, Neal then embellished on the story of the Trojan Horse. Instead of the great beast being filled with armed Greek mercenaries bent on sacking Troy once they had clandestinely gotten past the gates of the walled fortress, in his amended version, the wooden horse was more like a piñata.

     “You see,” Neal began in a whispered voice, “it was King Priam’s birthday and his friends, the Greeks, wanted to surprise him. So, they all hid inside of the horse, and once they got to his front yard, everybody came scrambling out to shout _'Happy Birthday'_ and to have a really fun party with lots of cake and ice cream.”

     “I’ve never had a birthday party,” Bella told him solemnly with a bit of longing that broke Neal’s heart. So, he quickly skewed away from that subject by commencing with the tale of King Midas. He soon had the child in helpless giggles as he related how another powerful god named Dionysus had cursed the greedy king by making everything that he touched turn to gold.

     “Can you imagine, Bella?” Neal asked in awe. “If he tried to eat a pretzel, he almost broke a tooth because that little pretzel had turned into hard gold! He couldn’t drink a glass of milk because as soon as he touched it, the glass and the milk gleamed and were as heavy as a rock. He couldn’t even change into new clothes. Try to picture jeans and socks made of gold and so stiff that they stood up by themselves.”

     Neal delighted in the child’s laughter and knew she had succeeded in snaring him hook, line and sinker with her innocent glee. How could this child’s father not know what a great treasure that he possessed? For that matter, how could a mother leave behind this little miracle that she had carried within her for nine months?

     The two, incongruous new friends whiled away the rest of the afternoon, contented with each other’s company. At five o’clock, Neal again set about raiding the pantry in search of dinner ingredients. He had everything that he needed for mac and cheese, a sure-fire kid pleaser. When he found a tin of gourmet Vienna sausage, he thought that it might add a bit of pizzazz to their simple meal.

     “Do you like hot dogs, Bella?” Neal asked before opening them.

     “I’ve never had one,” the child answered simply.

     “Seriously?” Neal asked incredulously. “You’ve never eaten a hot dog when you went to the circus or the zoo?”

     “I never went to those places,” she responded innocently.

     Neal clamped his jaw shut. He was liking this Wentworth dude less and less as time wore on.

     “Well, Princess Annabella, you are going to have hot dogs tonight,” he promised.

     “But Daddy said they are all full of poisonous stuff and nobody should ever eat that garbage,” Bella said fearfully.

     “Well, he was probably talking about regular old hotdogs. These little guys are special midget wieners made in Austria, so there’s nothing bad in them. I used to love them when I was your age. My aunt would sauté them on the stove and then add them to scrambled eggs or macaroni and cheese, and it was like having a special feast. Won’t you give it a shot, Bella? I’ll bet you’ll like them, too.”

   They ate dinner by candlelight that evening. Neal toasted his date with a glass of Bordeaux and she reciprocated with a glass of milk. The hot dog/mac and cheese casserole was a hit, and they munched on chocolate chip cookies for dessert. When darkness descended outside, Neal felt safe from the prying eyes of neighbors, so he carried the little girl in his arms to the back yard. Craning their necks up at the night sky, he pointed out the constellations from his stories.

     “See, Bella, there’s Ursa Major and Ursa Minor—the big bear and the little bear. And there’s Pegasus and Orion, too,” he whispered.

     “I don’t think that I can see them, Neal. Show me again,” she whispered back.

     So, Neal patiently outlined them with a raised finger. “Now Bella, you need to squint your eyes and picture Pegasus and Orion and the Bears in your mind’s eye. If you concentrate hard enough, pretty soon you’ll see them take shape in the stars. You will have to use your imagination. Just remember, little one, your imagination is the most valuable gift that you will ever own because it can take you anywhere that your mind wants to go.”

     After they finished their stargazing, Neal took Bella into the small bedroom and tried to tuck her into bed. He intended to sleep on the living room couch after catching up with the latest developments surrounding the “kidnapping,” and more urgent texting to Moz. However, things were not going to be that simple.

     “Neal,” Annabella pleaded. “I’m scared in this room by myself. Please don’t leave me and Sparkle here!”

     The con man found that he had to take some of his own advice about employing imagination to get the job done. Leading the sleepy child back into the living room, he pulled the cushions from one of the living room sofas and placed them on the floor. He then positioned a kitchen chair on either side and pulled a bedsheet across making an impromptu tent.

     “Your magic abode in the Arabian desert awaits you, Princess Jasmine,” Neal proclaimed as he waved his arm towards the opening and bowed. “I’ll sleep right here outside your tent and try to keep those noisy camels quiet so that you can get some rest.”

~~~~~~~~~~

     When the first streaks of daylight invaded the Bedouin hideaway, Neal felt small hands shaking him awake and demanding French toast. Just like most young children, when they enjoyed something, they compulsively wanted it over and over.

     After breakfast, Neal spent time encouraging Annabella to trace the letters in her name, and then try to form them by herself. Later, they moved on to numbers by singing “This Old Man” again and again. When she grew tired of that, they took up the refrains of “Old MacDonald” and his myriad of farm animals. After awhile, they ran out of beasts and had to make up their own with creations such as a “ _giraffe-opotomus”_ and a “ _piggy-platypus_.” Neal demanded detailed descriptions of the new critters that sent both of them into gales of laughter.

     Bella loved the little origami zoo of animals that Neal made for her, and insisted on giving each one a name. He taught her a few simple paper projects such as making a boat and then a hat that he settled onto her blonde curls. But Bella’s favorite thing was shaping the simple malleable dough that he had fashioned from bread, white craft glue, and acrylic paint. Her tiny fingers kneaded and stretched, and he helped her to roll long, fat coils that eventually became a snake. She insisted that Neal name this latest creation.

     “This fine fellow is named Kaa,” he proclaimed. “He is an Indian python and is one hundred years old. In snake life, that means that he is in his prime. He is gentle and polite and a very good pal to his young friend, Mowgli. Maybe one day someone will read you a story from Rudyard Kipling’s ‘ _The Jungle Book_ ’ and you’ll meet your old friend Kaa again.”

     After a dinner of chicken noodle soup and crackers, Bella’s eyes were drooping. Neal tried to entice her into her tent for the night, but she begged him to sing her one more song first. She had climbed into his lap and was looking up at him expectantly. The con man certainly didn’t know any lullabies, but he couldn’t disappoint the hope in those blue eyes. He found himself thinking back to a happier time in his life when Kate loved him and he loved her. Life was good then, but, like a fragile soap bubble, it hadn’t lasted very long. Everything had unraveled and now it was just a memory. But back then, Kate’s favorite song was “ _Heaven_ ,” an old Bryan Adams song from the 80’s. Neal used to croon it to her, and he never forgot the lyrics. Softly he began to sing:

 

_Oh thinkin' about all our younger years_

_There was only you and me_

_We were young and wild and free_

_Now nothin' can take you away from me_

_We've been down that road before_

_But that's over now_

_You keep me comin' back for more_

_Baby, you're all that I want_

_When you're lyin' here in my arms_

_I'm findin' it hard to believe_

_We're in heaven_

_And love is all that I need_

_And I found it there in your heart_

_It isn't too hard to see_

_We're in heaven_

     Neal never got to finish the remaining refrains of the song because Annabella’s eyelids were now closed and her limbs lax. Arising from the sofa, he carefully maneuvered her into her little pretend desert tent, but for just a brief second she stirred restlessly. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled sleepily, “I love you, Neal.”

     The con man sat at the kitchen table, wine glass full this time, and took a deep breath. He’d be damned if he would let the tears fall that were stinging his eyes. He knew that this unforeseen emotional upheaval wasn’t about Kate—not by a longshot. Nope, it had nothing to do with her this time. Somehow, a vulnerable little girl with a unicorn as a BFF had grabbed onto his heart with both hands and made him feel loved. Unbelievable! Was he just as hungry for affection as a four-year-old? He needed to get a grip.

     Thankfully, before he descended too far down into melancholy, his phone alerted him to an incoming text from Mozzie.

     _Arranged transport out of Dodge for you via an associate. Be at Conservatory, Bronx Gardens, tomorrow 11 PM. Watch for white van with plumbing logo on the side. Come alone. No room for carry-on baggage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Heaven” was one of the songs that Matt Bomer sang in the movie Magic Mike XXL. His recording of it is on iTunes.


	5. Chapter 5

     The atmosphere in the Wentworth apartment was tense. It had been over two days with no communication or ransom demand from Neal Caffrey and everyone was on edge. FBI personnel were well aware of the statistics. If a crime wasn’t solved within the first forty-eight hours, it was a longshot that any new headway would be made. Sure, child-molesting sexual predators might keep their little victims for a while until they grew tired of them, or the captive became too much trouble. However, children who were snatched for ransom were a valuable commodity. The negotiation for their release usually was swift and decisive. No incoming demands for money made veteran FBI agents in the “Missing Persons and Kidnapping” division suspect that the child might now be dead.

     Everyone was worried and tempers were frayed. Charles Wentworth did not help matters with his continuing arrogant and condescending attitude. True to his word, he had contacted the Mayor, who had then come down hard on the FBI and Matt Holstein in particular. Peter really felt sorry for the lead agent who probably would need root canals from grinding his teeth in the face of each new Wentworth onslaught. Right now, the rich, obnoxious blowhard was ranting about someone’s idea to offer a reward for information regarding his daughter.

     “All that’s going to succeed in doing is having every crackpot in the city lining up at my door with some bogus story and his hand out. No way am I going to put myself through that hell! I’d be throwing money down a sewer since we probably know that she’s already dead.”

     Holstein took a fortifying breath. “Sir, we don’t know that for sure, and we have to have hope that we’ll get her back for you. We have discovered some new information about what Caffrey was doing before he took your car. Apparently, he had stolen something and needed a speedy way out of town. He noticed your vehicle unattended, and took advantage of an opportunity. Most likely, he didn’t even realize that Annabella was in the backseat, so we suspect that the kidnapping was accidental.”

     “Then why hasn’t he dropped her off somewhere? Why did he keep her? I am telling you, she is probably in a ditch somewhere. Instead of looking for her, you guys sit here for hours on end with your thumbs up your asses! Well, unlike you jerk-offs, I have work that I need to attend to down at my firm. I can’t keep sitting here wringing my hands and fretting about what might be happening. You know where I am if there’s any word.”

     Peter waylaid the lawyer before he left the room. “Listen Mr. Wentworth, I have been chasing Neal Caffrey for almost three years, and I think I know a little about him as a person. He has never exhibited any violent tendencies, so I don’t believe for one second that he would harm Annabella.”

     Wentworth shrugged Peter’s hand off rudely. “Well, Agent, you certainly don’t know much if you haven’t caught this slippery bastard after three years of effort. You’re just as much of a fuck-up as all the rest of this pack taking up space in my house! Now get out of my way before I have you thrown out!”

     Peter’s eyes blazed and Matt Holstein saw the anger. He quickly stepped between the two men before it escalated to a point of no return. Wentworth wasn’t done though.

     “You want to go head to head with me Fed? Well, bring it on after I get your name and badge number. You’ll learn better than to lecture me after I have a word with your superiors, Mr. _Special_ Agent!”

     With an effort, Peter did back down and left the room. Holstein found him later after Wentworth had vacated the premises.

     “Peter, we’re all on edge and being sustained on raw adrenalin after virtually no sleep. Coffee can only do so much. Go home and get some rest. If Caffrey hasn’t called you by now, most likely he won’t, but thanks for being here anyway. It’s my job to put up with assholes like Wentworth, not yours.”

     Peter didn’t argue and that made him feel a bit guilty, but the allure of seeing his loving wife and sleeping in his own bed soon assuaged that feeling. El was still at her catering business, so, with the house quiet and still, he laid down on the bed, slept all afternoon, and didn’t awaken until he heard his wife’s key in the front door.

     Elizabeth hugged her haggard husband and made a quiet dinner for the two of them. She knew how disappointed that he was with this unexpected turn of events. Peter usually had a gut instinct about people, but this time it had let him down, and now he was doubting himself. Her heart ached for him.

   As El was washing up the dinner dishes, her phone chimed on the counter and showed an “unknown caller” display. After answering, she approached the living room couch, phone in hand, and announced to Peter in a perplexed tone, “It’s for you!”

     “Hello?” Peter said tentatively.

     The familiar voice on the other end of the connection said in a rush, “Peter, I have a little problem!”

     Peter exhaled a relieved breath, but asked nonetheless, “Neal, why are you calling me on my wife’s phone?”

     “Because yours is probably being monitored, Peter,” the con man answered incredulously, as if that was a no-brainer. “Thank God you’re finally home with Elizabeth right now!”

     Peter ignored the histrionics and got right down to Neal’s opening line about a problem. “On one hand, Neal, I agree that you have a ‘little’ problem. On the other side of the equation, you have a very ‘huge’ problem. Seriously, Neal, kidnapping? Is the child okay?”

     Neal quickly cut in before anymore chastising occurred. “Peter, let me reassure you that I never planned for this to happen. I didn’t know Annabella was even in the car when I ‘borrowed’ it. All of a sudden, she just literally popped up in the back seat! And of course she’s okay—what kind of person do you think that I am?” Neal was now getting agitated.

     “Simmer down, Neal! Regardless of how you came to acquire her, this child needs to be back with her father,” Peter said adamantly.

     “I think what she _needs_ in her life, and what she actually _has_ in her life are two very different things,” Neal said with passion.

     The conman took a breath and continued in a more civil tone. “I get the sense that Annabella’s father is less than interested in his daughter’s welfare. Maybe he doesn’t even love her. He’s just royally pissed because something—a possession—was taken from him and he’s been inconvenienced. Maybe I should demand that Child Protective Services investigate Bella’s home life before I give her back. A pack of wolves would probably be better parents for her. I mean, what kind of father leaves a four-year-old child all alone in a car on a New York street while he tries to make time with a barista half his age? It’s obscene!” Neal decreed heatedly. “And what about a mother who abandoned her baby right after she was born? How’s that for cold and uncaring!”

     This unexpected rambling rant was intriguing to Peter. An absentee mother and a cold, dispassionate father—was Caffrey channeling a version of his own life? For whatever reason, Neal was definitely in protective mode, especially when Peter made a suggestion.

     “Look, Neal, just end this now. Take the child and leave her somewhere safe, then call me with her whereabouts after you orchestrate your getaway. I will come and get her immediately.”

     “I’m not going to leave her all alone, Peter. I made a promise that I wouldn’t do that. She’s only four years old. She’d be scared!”

     “Then take her to a public place like a park where there are lots of people around that she can go to,” Peter brainstormed.

     “Are you out of your mind?” Neal squawked. “Do you realize how many bad people are out there, Peter, how many perverts that might snatch her while she’s waiting for you to arrive? No way am I putting her in that kind of danger!”

     Peter refrained from pointing out that Neal was the one who had abducted little Annabella in the first place, whether he had intended to or not. She might not be in danger while with him, but she definitely was not where she should be.

     “So what’s your plan, Neal? I know that you would not be calling unless you had something in mind.”

     “Well, I’d like you to come and get her, but you have to promise me that you will come alone—no back-up. I’ll meet you tomorrow afternoon at the Tisch Children’s Petting Zoo, 64th and 5th Avenue at 4PM. There will be lots of innocent children and their mothers around at that hour, so no SWAT teams that would terrorize everyone unnecessarily. If I detect even one person who seems out of place, I won’t stay around, Peter. I’ll take Bella and you’ll never see her again. Understood?”

     “Got it in one, Neal,” Peter said between clenched teeth.

     When Neal disconnected, Peter was in a quandary. Although he had a certain amount of faith in Neal Caffrey, Peter was, first and foremost, a lawman. He had to follow protocol. The consequences involving a child’s life were at stake, and he could not chance anything by going off-book. He immediately put in a call to Matt Holstein and told him of the new development.

     “Do you believe him, Peter? Is this on the up and up, or is he just jerking your chain?” The skeptical agent queried.

     Peter thought long and hard before he answered. “I think Annabella Wentworth is safe with him. Neal has a good heart and wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. He will carry through on his promise to bring her back. That being said, he is also a perceptive and wary criminal who will probably ferret out a set-up, and then things will get dicey for everybody.”

     “Peter, my people have been doing this for a long time. We know the drill and the stakes that are involved. You meet Caffrey tomorrow, secure the child, and we’ll do the rest. He’ll never see us coming, I promise you.”

     “Yeah, okay,” Peter said reluctantly. “Just try not to hurt him if possible. He never intended for any of this to happen.”

     “Well, maybe he should have thought of the consequences before he robbed that coin dealer and stole a car,” Holstein answered. “Look, I gotta go and start setting the wheels in motion, Peter. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning and loop you in.”

     None of this sat right in Peter’s gut. He just knew that somehow, someway, someone was going to get hurt. He morosely sat on his couch feeling that he had betrayed Neal’s trust. Then he got angry with himself. He should not feel guilty about doing his job, damn it! Neal was a criminal. How much faith should he put in that relationship?

     About an hour later, there was a soft tapping on the back door and Peter instantly stiffened. He motioned for El to stay in the living room as he cautiously un-holstered his gun and cracked open the door that led from the kitchen to the small outdoor patio. Surprisingly, Neal Caffrey stood before him in the darkness holding a sleeping little girl whose blonde head was nestled on his shoulder.

     “Hey, Peter,” Neal whispered.

     Peter immediately tucked his revolver away and looked at Neal sternly. “You said you were going to bring her to the petting zoo tomorrow, or did I misunderstand your instructions?”

     Neal gave a slight shrug and said with a rueful little smile, “Well I just wasn’t sure that you wouldn’t show up with your usual battalion of black-helmeted storm troopers. I didn’t want to take a chance with Bella’s safety. I suppose you and I have trust issues, Peter.”

     “Yeah, we definitely should work on that,” Peter agreed wryly.

     Peter then reached out to take the sleeping child who immediately startled awake, took one look at this strange man, and frantically grasped Neal’s shirt with both hands. “No, Neal, I want to stay with you. Don’t leave me!” She pleaded as the tears started to flow.

     “It’s okay, Bella. Peter is a nice man and he’ll take good care of you. Cross my heart, little princess.”

     Just then, El peeked around Peter’s broad back and Neal perked up. “Mrs. Burke, I presume. So nice to finally meet you. Maybe you could ……”

     Neal didn’t get to finish the sentence as El gracefully scooped the small child into her arms and promised her some ice cream while wiping her tears with a tissue. Neal’s hand was moving towards his jacket pocket, and Peter immediately tensed.

     “Wait, she needs to take ‘Sparkle’ with her,” Neal explained as he produced a small, ratty-looking stuffed animal. “They’re inseparable. And here’s more of her stuff in this bag,” he said as he thrust a plastic sack into Peter’s hand. “Oh, and just so you know, you have to make French toast with powdered sugar, not syrup, for breakfast in the morning; that’s non-negotiable.”

     The two men continued to hear the distressed keening as El retreated inside with the four-year-old. It was unnerving to both adversaries as they faced each other in the dim light.

     Neal looked Peter in the eye. “Promise me that you’ll visit her from time to time, Peter, to make sure that everything is okay.”

     “Yeah, Neal, I’ll do that,” Peter mumbled. Both men knew it was a lie, and it was breaking Neal’s heart.

     Peter saw the anguish in the con man’s eyes and took pity on him. “We can’t always fix things, Neal. As much as we might want to, sometimes we can’t save everyone and make things right in their world, no matter how desperately we try.”

     The FBI agent suddenly wondered if his words were about a small child or a very conflicted criminal.

     Neal just sighed and made a determined effort to keep his emotions in check. “Getting back to that trust issue, Peter, I’m going to trust that you are going to let me walk out of your back yard tonight.”

     Peter looked at this young man who continually plucked his nerves but had so much good in him. He had a decision to make, but that didn’t take long. Very slowly, the by-the-book FBI agent retreated into his kitchen and began closing the door, but not before he called out drolly, “Make sure that you don’t take any wooden nickels, Neal.”

     Once inside, Peter emptied the plastic bag onto the kitchen counter. Assorted drawings, paintings, origami animals, and one fat, coiled piece of white clay rolled out. Peter suspected that these objects were precious treasures from a child’s enchanted adventure. Somehow, Peter felt content. It had all turned out okay, except for one steadily weeping little girl who was missing someone who cared about her in a way that she probably had never known in her short life.

     When he walked into the living room, El was still trying to calm her. She looked at Peter over the top of Bella’s head. “Stockholm Syndrome,” she asked quizzically?

     Whimsical visions of “Peter Pan” danced through Peter’s mind as he smiled at his wife. “No, Hon, it’s just the result of being entranced by Neal Caffrey and his magical charm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Don't take any wooden nickels" is considered a lighthearted reminder to be cautious in one's dealings. The adage arose during the Great Depression when wooden nickels were sometimes given as a promissory note by banks who lacked funds.


End file.
